


Can't You Tell I'm Breaking?

by prowlstwinkass



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, potentially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlstwinkass/pseuds/prowlstwinkass
Summary: Prowl's been through a lot. He's been through a little too much, actually. Everyone has a breaking point.And Prowl is definitely breaking.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time publishing any of my Transformers fanfictions, so be gentle with me. The subject for this one might be a little odd for a first publish, but I accidentally on purpose deleted my other fic document and this is the only oneshot I've got in the new one that's complete.  
> So yeah, uh, warnings for self-harm, kind of explicit. The self-deprecation and self-hatred Prowl experiences is how it worked for me, and I felt a little triggered just writing it. He also has some kind of anxiety/panic attack (idk the difference) and I'm not sure if it really is that but that's what I've experienced so heeyyyyy  
> Enjoy?

Prowl was pretty good at keeping his composure, at least as far as converting it to anger went. Because when Prowl got upset, he got angry. He threw tables, broke datapads, scowled and glowered. Now, though... Prowl had been through a lot in the past few weeks. He'd been beaten by Starscream's combiners, thrown in a cell, broken out and been mentally beaten into submission by Optimus and the rest of Optimus Maximus, and then he'd been locked in a room with Prime, been thrown out a window, beaten to a pulp, and whisked away by Rattrap. After _that_ he was blackmailed into traveling to Earth, captured and tormented by an old colleague he'd thought long dead that seemed to be way too attached to Prowl, escaped from that mess only to get called in to aide the mecha on Luna 1 in thwarting the plans of another apparently-not-dead colleague. He'd been shot in the side, used as a puppet by one of his 'allies', and barely managed to halt Sentinel's plan– and by halt, he meant delayed. Because it would happen. Just later.

  
In all... yeah, he'd been through a lot. So it really shouldn't have come as a surprise that after the fuss died down Prowl found himself to be tired. Not physically, not really. Just... tired. Like he could lie on the floor and do nothing forever.

  
And that's what he did, for the most part. Besides performing the duties assigned to him concerning the maintenance of the Luna 1 base, Prowl just slept. And sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he just dozed, doing nothing and thinking nothing.  
This should have been a relief. But it wasn't. He didn't feel relieved, didn't even feel rested. Pit, did... was he feeling anything? The revelation should have been concerning, and it was, vaguely. But Prowl didn't feel anything.

  
After a while Fortress Maximus began bringing Prowl out on his little missions. Something about fresh air and new scenery. Odd that he cared, but he probably didn't. Prowl was a valuable asset, after all, and who would waste it? Even if the asset itself was despised, its skills were not. And that's all he was now. A set of skills, a valued mind. The spark could go to the smelters for all they cared.

  
Who was 'they'? It didn't matter. That's what they said, and that's what resounded through Prowl's processor whenever he did anything wrong.

  
_Look at you, so pathetic. You shouldn't even be living, shouldn't exist. No one wants you. You know it's true. Optimus has denied you. He's cast you aside like the trash you are. You weren't good enough for him. Too broken. He said that, didn't he? 'An open wound.' He only ever pitied you, but he finally saw what you really are. A monster. He hates you, just like everyone else. Like Kup, like Springer. Fortress Maximus, he hates you too._

  
_You know, if you killed yourself no one would care. Oh! Oh! But that's going too far, isn't it! You're too selfish to die, too cowardly. And you know it, because it's you thinking these thoughts. You could stop it. Just stop thinking this. Stop. **Stop. STOP THINKING YOU PIECE OF–**_

  
Prowl had initially been surprised by the pain of the knife in his leg. It hurt, of course. Quite a lot. Leave it to Fortress Maximus to leave a comrade's back unguarded.

  
_Maybe he just wants you to die by someone else's–_

  
Prowl wrenched the knife out. A bad choice by all accounts. But also the best. Because the bright flare of pain drowned out the voice. The voice that was his and wasn't.

  
The rest of that outing passed quickly. Fortress Maximus got the bad guys and gave them their due. Cerebros repaired the two mechs' damage, and Prowl returned to his room. He still had the knife. He washed it in one of the sinks in the washrack, scrubbed it clean of grime. It was sharp. Very sharp.

  
The voice wasn't back yet, but it would be. Next time he made a mistake. Better to do this now, while he was alone, than later, when the voice needled him around the others.

  
It took little effort to slice through his upper arm, where his plating was thinnest. An ohhhh, it felt wonderful. Prowl could have wept. The pain sliced through the fog in his mind. The whole world felt more real, more solid. Less like some waking dream.

  
Prowl cut again, through the same spot. He dug the blade deeper, the sudden image of cutting off his whole arm and bleeding to death sending a horrified thrill through his spark. The pain rose again, accompanied by the welling of energon. Prowl had never seen a more welcome sight.

  
Cutting became the only thing that calmed him down. Whenever he felt something rising up in his chest, hot and painful and bringing tears to his optics, Prowl would flee to his room and cut. Whenever his helm became too full, whenever he drifted too far from his body, his knife would dig into his plating and bring him back to the present. The pain was a blessed relief. Something physical to counter the turmoil in his spark and processor.

  
He didn't bother hiding the marks. On some level, he hoped that someone would ask. Ask if something was wrong. He would say no if they ever did, of course, because he couldn't tell anyone. But maybe, just maybe if someone asked, he would tell them. But no one ever did.

  
_They know what's going on, they just don't care. They don't care that you're breaking, because they don't care for you– just what you can give them._

  
Pain didn't work forever, though. He knew this. Should have expected it.

  
They had just come back from another mission, he and Fortress Maximus. It wasn't too bad, wasn't too hard. Easy, actually. But Prowl couldn't shake the strange agitation that vibrated in his chest, that made him jumpy and anxious. This wasn't the first time he'd felt this in the past weeks and months. He just needed to go back to his room...

  
Fortress Maximus must have noticed Prowl's agitation, though, because he asked about it. "What's wrong?"

  
'Nothing. Nothing is wrong.' That's what he should have said. The words wouldn't come out, though. Prowl knew, somehow, that if he tried to speak his voice would croak, and the tears gathering at his optics would start falling. The black and white mech made to shake his helm, but realized that doing so would also set off the strange feelings rattling about inside him. So Prowl just stared at the far wall, halted in his tracks by Fortress Maximus's question.

  
"Prowl? You look upset, is something wrong?"

  
_Everything is wrong. I'm wrong. There's something wrong with me_. Prowl didn't reply. His face felt as though it had been etched in stone. His limbs felt heavy, but that didn't stop him from reaching up and grabbing his arm– the arm with the marks. Prowl pressed his digits into the cuts, feeling the echo of pain that was no where near as good as a knife.

  
"Hey, hey Prowl, don't do that." Large servos hesitated a few inches away. Prowl could hardly see them. His vision blurred as his attention turned inwards, focusing on the writhing anxiety in his chest. "Where did you get those, Prowl? I've seen them before, but I'm not sure where you got them."

  
It all felt like too much. Prowl's helm had become too full. Everything was crashing down on him. Prowl wanted to cry. He wanted to lie down and sob until his tears were spent. He wanted someone to _care_. He wanted someone to _hold_ him– hold him tight, _tighter_. He wanted it _so badly_.

  
It took a moment to realize that Fortress had fallen silent. Prowl refreshed his optics. They stung. He'd started to cry. _No! No! Hold it in!_ Prowl sucked in a shuddering breath and held it, feeling his face contort despite his efforts. Tears dripped from his chin and rolled down his chestplates, leaving transparent blue streaks in their wake. Sobs fell from Prowl's tight lips, but he made no move to wipe his tears or stifle his sobs. Better to just pretend he wasn't crying.

  
_You're pathetic. Crying like a new-build. Where's your cold mask? Fortress Maximus knows, now. He knows you're weak. Look, he's reaching out! This is it, this is it! He's going to hit you, like Optimus did. He'll cast you out. You never belonged here, you're too–_

  
"Prowl, I'm going to try a grounding exercise Rung taught me, okay? It'll help you calm down."

  
What? Prowl stared blearily at the servo on his upper arm. The touch was unobtrusive and gentle. No stroking, no petting. A heavy, grounding weight. Fortress stared down at the strategist, his expression neutral but soft. It took a few moments for the other mech's words to register. Prowl nodded.

  
"Okay. What can you hear?" Fortress Maximus's voice was low, rumbling in Prowl's audials. He didn't sound condescending, nor did he sound as though he was trying to comfort. He sounded neutral and mellow.

  
"...Your engine." Prowl replied after a few long moments. His voice sounded awful, all choked and thick. Prowl didn't look up, just stared at Fortress's servo. "The-the ventilation systems in the base."

  
"Can you see anything blue?"

  
There wasn't really much of a color pallet in the Luna 1 base, but Prowl did his best. "Your paint. The screen on that console." His breathing kept hitching, and the tears wouldn't stop flowing. What was the point of this?

  
"Do you see anything red?"

  
Prowl looked about, his optics flicking upward for a brief moment. "Your optics." More things were red than blue. "Those sensors, the lights on that panel. My chevron."

  
Fortress chuckled. "You can't see your chevron." The smile in his voice came as a comfort.

  
"I know it's red, though."

  
"Fair enough. Did Red Alert have his energon today?"

  
Prowl thought back to hours before. "I don't think so."

  
"That's not good. How long were we gone for? Tell me down to the klik."

  
The questions continued. Prowl answered them all, one by one. Fortress Maximus's touch to his arm never wavered, nor did the large mech's voice. He just kept asking questions. How many panels on that wall? How many consoles in this room? Did you see something green while we were out? Something yellow?

  
Finally, eons later, Prowl calmed. His ventilations were still uneven, but his tears had halted, and his helm felt far clearer. He didn't feel agitated anymore. Didn't feel much of anything beyond the cold damp in his chest that comes after a long cry.  
Prowl's shoulders sagged. He felt tired.

  
"Do you want to go to your room?" A slow nod was the only reply Fortress received.

  
The walk passed in a blur. Before Prowl knew it Fortress Maximus was gently pushing him to lie down on his back in his soft, warm berth. Prowl sighed, optics flickering as a heavy weight put a dip in the padding.

  
"If you ever want to talk about what's happening with you, Prowl, I'm here." Digits brushed over Prowl's arm, skirting the marks he knew were there. "I'm no stranger to what you're feeling, Prowl. I know what it's like. Maybe not in the same way, maybe not for the same reasons, but I've gone through this too. I still am." Another gentle brush, and then the weight on Prowl's berth lifted.

  
Prowl's optics snapped online, panic surging in his throat. Suddenly, he wanted to be selfish. He wanted to reach out and ask Fortress to stay, to lie down with him, just for a little. Just until he fell asleep.

  
But centuries of self-control and pride, of denying himself such comforts, kept him from speaking. _He'll say no. He'll mock you for being weak, for needing comfort, for needing someone else near to fall asleep._ But Fortress had said he understood. Maybe he understood this too? Prowl wanted to call out, but his mouth wouldn't open. He fought with himself, spark lurching as, in slow motion, his window began to close.

  
"Wait!" Finally Prowl choked out a word. Fortress Maximus paused, turning. Prowl withered with uncertainty, his doubts returning in full force. The Enforcer said nothing, for which Prowl was grateful. "Stay?"

  
Fortress glanced at the stretch of open berth at Prowl's side. All the berths were fairly large, certainly enough to hold the both of them in a pinch. "Of course, Prowl."

  
Prowl scooted aside, pressing himself against the wall as Fortress lay on his back, easily taking up two thirds of the berth. Prowl hesitated, but quickly gave in to the impulse to curl against the bigger mech's side– what other dignity had he to lose now? Pulling Fortress Maximus's arm over his shoulders like a heavy blanket, Prowl offlined his optics and brought his servos up before his face, like a new-build curled in a gestation chamber.

  
"One good cry and a good night's sleep won't fix this, Prowl." Like this Prowl could feel as well as hear Fortress's voice, which rumbled through the smaller mech. "But I'll be here for you whenever you need me."

  
Right, yes. This wasn't going to go away because of one little fix. The darkness of Prowl's brokenness lingered at the back of his mind, still present and waiting to strike. It wouldn't get him tonight, though. Fortress had helped Prowl drive it away, if only temporarily.

  
Prowl's ventilations slowed, and he pressed a little closer, laying his audial on the broad chest so as to hear the pulse of the other's spark. It was strong and steady. The slow rise and fall of Fortress's chest reminded the black and white mech of lying on a past lover's chest, doing this same thing. "Thank you," Prowl murmured. Fortress Maximus only hummed. With a weary sigh, Prowl slipped into the first real recharge he'd had in ages.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Please point out any errors, or give suggestions on how to better my writing style– no one but me ever reads these, so I could use tips.


End file.
